


we can start it all over again

by xxpaynoxx



Category: Football RPF, Real Person Fiction
Genre: Head Injury, Head trauma, M/M, Temporary Amnesia, terfinha is implied, this is probably one of the saddest things I've written so far
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-10
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-05-19 14:48:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5970913
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xxpaynoxx/pseuds/xxpaynoxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If you're pretending from the start, like this, with a tight grip, then my kiss can mend your broken heart; I might miss everything you said to me."</p><hr/><p>Apparently, it takes Neymar nearly dying for Leo to confront what they are, and what they've become.</p><p>And it's easier said than done, especially when the person you're in love with doesn't know who you are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. tongue tied over three words, cursed

He doesn’t feel right.

Something is off.

And Lionel Messi _never_ feels off before a game.

He looks around at his team as they stand, huddled together, in the locker room, preparing to march out into the tunnel and onto the field of Camp Nou. The energy in the air is like lightning, making the hairs on Leo’s arms stand up and giving him pre-game shivers, sending his heart racing with a small burst of adrenaline.

There’s Gerard, his arm swung around Marc’s shoulder lightheartedly as he jokes with him about something Leo has obviously missed. There’s Luis, standing silent and looking around a little awkwardly, like he’s been placed in a cage of tigers. He’s still new to this, to the touchy-feely interactions of La Liga, since the Premier League had been so different. Sergi gets there before Leo, coming up behind Luis and strikes up conversation, and Luis visibly relaxes as the former rests his hand on his shoulder.

Leo’s eyes finally rest on Neymar.

He doesn’t look right. His hair is perfect (as it always is), but he’s fiddling with the edge of his jersey and he’s wincing every time Geri roars with laughter at something that Marc says in a hushed voice.

Leo walks over to Neymar, placing a hand on his neck, and the boy jerks, his head snapping up to look at him. His pupils don’t look right; they’re slightly dilated, and he looks pained.

“You okay, Ney?” he asks in a hushed voice.

“Yeah, sure, why wouldn’t I be?” he scoffs, but he looks in pain and it’s hurting Leo.

He remembers the day previous, how they had been playing FIFA in Leo’s flat with Gerard and Jordi and how Neymar had lost and had tackled Leo in the middle of the next game, instituting a wicked wrestling match. Neymar had obviously won, with him being all arms and legs in a fight, but not before hitting his head pretty hard on the wooden arm of the couch. He’d stood up and brushed it off, saying that he was fine, and they all had carried on without a second thought.

Leo regrets it, moving on without checking if Neymar was alright, blowing off the fact that his teammate had been wincing for hours afterwards, but only for a moment. The look in Neymar’s eyes tells him he’s done holding the conversation.

They’re let out of the locker room, energy and testosterone spilling into the tunnel as they all walk out, beaming as the roar of the crowd sends Leo into an adrenaline rush that’s making his heart smash against his ribcage.

He doesn’t miss Neymar’s wince as he peers up at the bright stadium lights.

…

Everything is going fine until five minutes into the second half.

Leo has scored twice, both times leaping into Neymar’s arms at the corner flag as Ney whispers _god you’re amazing_ over and over into his chest as Leo’s face breaks into a smile as the rest of the team swarms them, little Leo getting trapped in the middle of a massive group hug.

Then, everything starts to go wrong.

There’s a throw-in from the sideline. Gerard takes it, making eye contact with Neymar and throwing it, the ball attaching to his boots like they’re made of Velcro.

Neymar dribbles easily down the wing, darting around the defender, but not before the defender’s shoulder smashes into his head and he falls just outside the box.

Everything slows down.

As the ball rolls out for a goal kick, Neymar stays down. The defender looks down, perplexed, and kneels next to Ney and shaking his shoulder. He sits up slowly, and his skin is ashen. His eyes are unfocused as he makes eye contact with Leo from across the pitch, and something about his gaze is _wrong_.

Then there’s blood everywhere, all over the grass as Neymar throws up, the defender leaping away with a yelp. The stadium has gone silent, as if the whole crowd is holding its breath. Neymar keeps puking, thick rivulets of blood dripping down his chin, and his mouth parts in a scream as his hands go to the sides of his head.

Leo gets there first, Gerard not far behind.

“Ney!” he calls out, shaking his shoulder, but he doesn’t respond, horrible screams clawing out of his throat as his entire body thrashes on the field, blood spattered all over his jersey and Leo can’t breathe all of a sudden because it feels like the goddamn World Cup all over again where he just watched Ney fall, helpless as he sat in his hotel room, and the thoughts whizzing around his head are making his heart slam against his ribcage as fear sends chills down his spine.

_What is he dies?_

_What if he dies on the fucking field-_

There’s blood on his hands and arms now, the maroon color standing out against his pale skin, but he barely notices as Neymar throws up again, this time harder and louder. His chin and teeth are stained red and Leo feels numb, like he should be crying but he can’t because the shock of everything that has occurred in the past minute and a half has hit him like a freight train.

By the grace of God, the medical team is finally there, swarming around Neymar, who has stopped thrashing and lays still against the grass, eyes open and glassy and his body looks so broken and limp that Leo feels his heart shatter.

He barely hears Gerard’s whispers in his ear as the taller man pulls him away, Leo not even resisting as he watches Ney escorted off the field, eyes finally closed with a bloody oxygen mask taped to his mouth as the medical team sprints out of the field.

Leo barely registers the game going on again.

The defender has to be substituted because he can’t go near the patch of bloody grass. Leo is substituted as well, and Jordi leads him off the field in silence, Leo holding onto him like he’ll will slip away if he lets go.

Leo doesn’t even remember going into the shower, but suddenly he’s in there with Jordi, still fully clothed as he turns the tap on. The tiles are running red as the blood on his arms goes away, changing from maroon to a light pink and then there’s nothing as the water washes away the red from the bottom of the shower.

Everything up until now has felt like an out-of-body experience, like a freakish dream that he’d thought up of. But as Jordi brings him out of the shower and into his arms, resting Leo’s head on his chest, he starts to shake.

He can’t stop hearing Neymar’s screams, like a wild animal, and he can’t close his eyes because the imprint of his body lying on the grass, limp and covered in blood is still seared onto the back of his eyelids.

He hears Jordi saying something, but he can’t decipher it, his brain won’t process the words slipping out of Jordi’s mouth and into his ear, so he just clings to his jersey. He lets Jordi rub his hands across his back and sides with featherlight touches, like Ney used to do when they’d crash at his flat after a round of alcohol with the boys because of a big win. He’s shaking with his eyes wide open, but he’s not crying.

He can’t cry for some reason, his body thinks he is because sobs are wracking his small body, but no tears spill down his cheeks.

“Is he going to be okay?”

Jordi goes still, hands hovering mere centimeters above Leo’s sides. Leo feels his chest heave with a heavy sigh, and instead of resting on his body, his hand goes up to his head, pressing it against his heart.

Leo can hear his heartbeat, erratic and nervous, and he feels like he’s twelve again and his mother is holding him close after a nightmare.

“I don’t know,” he feels Jordi whisper into his ear, his lips pressing a kiss against Leo’s temple.

And Leo starts to cry.


	2. running over thoughts that make my feet hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jordi is the supportive big brother, Leo has a bad dream, and the team tries to shoulder Leo's baggage for him.

The post-game is rushed.

The team wins, obviously. Leo and Jordi are already changed, and Luis offers to drive them to the hospital. Gerard, Marc and Sergi decide to come along as well, and they all strip and change quickly before piling into Luis’s massive black Cadillac. The press hadn’t even been able to get a word out of Leo, mainly because Jordi took his arm and didn’t let him go until they were all packed into the car like sardines.

Nobody speaks.

Luis’s knuckles are white on the wheel as he zooms through traffic, not unlike those English drivers Leo sometimes sees when they play at Wembley. Sergi has claimed shotgun with his hand on Luis’s thigh, possibly to try and calm him down.

Gerard is tense, leaning forward his his forearms resting on his knees, his forehead in his hands. Marc was rubbing circles onto his back, head leaning on the window as he stared at the ceiling of the car lost in thought.

Jordi’s arm is still swung around Leo’s shoulders, holding him close as if Leo would break apart if he lets go.

Luis parks, or makes a good attempt, and the car isn’t even turned off before Leo leaps out of the car, sprinting towards the doors. Jordi is right behind him, and crashes into his back as he stops short, the receptionist looking up at them like wild animals before she blinks, jaw slightly agape.

“Neymar?” Leo breathes, and the receptionist does a double take before looking down at her desk, clearly overwhelmed by the majority of the Barcelona team crammed in front of her desk. She gives them a number, and Leo barely remembers it before they’re off again, racing down the corridors and up the stairs like those sprints that Lucho makes them do if they lose a match.

Leo suddenly smashes into Jordi’s back as he stops dead, staring down the hallway that’s appeared in front of them. A door with the number _83_ emblazoned on it in gold opens, and a doctor walks out, shutting the door behind him and writing something on his clipboard.

Someone coughs (Leo is willing to bet it’s Gerard, because he sees Marc elbow him harshly in the chest) and the doctor looks over, his eyes widening and his eyebrows shooting up his forehead.

It’s Luis that breaks off from the group, the one who acts most like an adult of all of them, walking down the hallway and standing in front of the doctor, speaking in a low voice to him.

It’s obvious the doctor isn’t giving good news, since Leo can see Luis’ jaw tighten and his hands start to wave around in the air. The doctor is shaking his head and, with another remark to Luis, walks off down the hallway leaving Luis staring at the wall.

Leo feels Marc move, going to him first and pressing a hand to his shoulder. Luis looks like he’s in shock, his eyes wide and glassy.

The group eventually joins the two, and Jordi is the first to speak.

“Will we be able to see him?”

Luis is quiet for a few seconds, and when he speaks, Leo nearly loses it from the shakiness and the crack in his voice at the end.

“We can’t.”

“Why not?”

“He’s…he’s in critical condition. The doctor told me that we can see him tomorrow.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

Luis doesn’t respond for a few seconds, and begins listing off the problems Neymar suffered, and Leo’s heart sinks with every word.

“He’s had a hemorrhage. What he had on the field, it was an extreme seizure. They had to take him into surgery to stop his brain from bleeding, and had to give him a blood transfusion for all the blood he’s lost. He’s in a coma now, and the doctor doesn’t know when he’s going to wake up again.”

The group is stunned. Leo’s fists are balled at his sides. How dare they not even go in and look at him? He doesn’t realize he’s been holding his breath until Jordi’s hand rests on his neck and he relaxes into his grip, shoulders shrugging in defeat.

_He’s in a coma._

_He might not wake up._

“It’s okay, Leo. We’ll just go sleep in the car,” Jordi suggests, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Luis’ head jerks up so quickly that Leo could’ve sworn he’d heard it crack.

“What? You think we’ll all fit in there?” Luis asks incredulously, eyes wide in shock at Jordi’s suggestion, the latter with a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Well, it’s better than going home and coming back and risking getting snapped by paparazzi.”

The group goes silent again, and Leo’s suddenly thinking about the newspapers tomorrow. They’ll probably put Neymar’s sprawled body on the front cover, some shitty pun in big black letters underneath. The fans will be hysterical, because if Leo was being honest with himself, everyone loved Ney. Everyone would be hysterical, millions of _get-well-soon_ messages flooding his Twitter.

Leo didn’t want to face anyone other than his team, not yet.

Gerard walks out first, clamping onto Marc’s arm and walking down the stairs. Luis follows them closely, and Sergi grabs Leo’s arm, giving it a squeeze and a reassuring smile before he’s running off to Luis like a little shadow.

Leo stays.

He goes and presses his back against the wall next to the door, sliding down until he’s sitting on the ground, his knees pulled slightly towards his chest. He rests his forearms on his knees, knotting his hands together before him, and stares at nothing.

He feels Jordi sit down next to him, and he doesn’t realize he’s crying until he looks up and sees Jordi’s sad face swimming in his vision, hand reaching out and wiping his cheeks free of the tears he’s shedding.

“Don’t.”

It’s like Jordi can hear what he’s thinking, like he can hear the blame game running around his head. Jordi’s good about that; Jordi is the guy he tells about things that are bugging him, but he still hasn’t told him he’s slept with Ney.

Nobody knows about that, and it’s making this even harder, because Ney cared about him, he _cared_ about Leo and Leo just let him walk out of that room that night, saying that it was a mistake, that it didn’t mean anything even though the shakiness of his voice betrayed him.

He’d promised himself that he’d say something after the game, tell Ney that it meant everything to him, that he had been stuck on his mind ever since _that night_ , that he wanted this with him. Now, thanks to Leo, he might not ever be able to tell him.

He feels himself shaking again, and Jordi pulls him into his chest, running his hands through his hair and pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Leo doesn’t remember standing up or walking down the staircase, but suddenly a blast of cold wind hits him in the face and he winces, ducking under Jordi’s arm and closing his eyes as they walk to the car.

The rest of the boys are already asleep when they get there.

Gerard is stretched out on the folded back seats, Marc tightly wrapped around him like a vine, their chests pressing together and Geri’s chin pressed on top of Marc’s head. They look so peaceful, the streetlamp from the parking lot reflecting off of Geri’s cheekbones and it makes his skin glow.

Luis and Sergi are curled around each other in the shotgun seat, Luis’s hand stuck in Sergi’s brown curls with Sergi’s arms pressed against his chest. Sergi’s pink lips are in a pout, and he’s nuzzling into Luis’s chest as the latter tightens his grip in his curls.

Leo is sitting on a seat opposite Jordi, curled in on himself and scrolling through his phone. Ivan is hysterical, texting him so quickly he had to turn his phone on mute. He’s definitely going to come tomorrow, towing Dani in with him.

Leo eventually falls asleep, albeit fitfully, but eventually he relaxes and starts dreaming.

_It starts with him in bed, Neymar’s form curled against him._

_It’s quiet as Leo cards his fingers through Ney’s hair, and the latter smiles across Leo’s bare shoulder, snuggling closer and entwining his legs with Leo’s. He used to love this, just him and Ney, bare skin against bare skin, nobody else but them._

_But he knows this won’t last._

_“You’re not real,” Leo mumbles sleepily, and Neymar looks up at him, his lips breaking into a smile. “Yes it is, Leo, we’re real,” he says in a singsong voice, cupping his hands on Leo’s cheeks, but Leo shakes his head. He can’t get caught up in illusions, because Neymar isn’t here with his arms wrapped around him, he’s in the hospital, lying on a hospital bed with little chance of survival._

_“It could be if you had said something.”_

_Leo freezes. “What?” he croaks, as he looks down at Neymar and flinches._

_His eyes have gone dark and angry, and his jaw is clenched as he sits up, looking Leo directly in the eyes._

_“I said,” he growls, scoring his nails across Leo’s chest, making him cry out as he breaks the skin and draws blood, “this could be real if you had saved me.”_

_Then there’s the blood, dribbling down his chin and onto Leo’s chest, and he holds his head and starts screaming again. Leo’s heart feels like it’s going into overdrive, hands shaking as he watches Neymar fall onto his chest, writhing and screaming and smearing blood all over their chests and there’s way too much blood everywhere, the smell is stuck in Leo’s nose, and he can’t smell anything else-_

_And Neymar isn’t screaming at nothing anymore, he’s screaming at Leo, holding his face in his bloody hands and screaming at him, asking him why he didn’t say something, why couldn’t he save him. Blood sprays from his mouth onto Leo’s face and he’s frozen, eyes wide, paralyzed as Neymar all but breaks in front of him, falls onto his chest and doesn’t move, and Leo starts sobbing._

_“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, Ney,” he chokes, holding Ney’s limp body to his chest as he cries, hands pressed into his hair_

_Neymar raises a hand to his cheek, smearing blood across his face as a crooked smile breaks across his lips. “I hate you,” he whispers, before he goes slack, his head lolling in Leo’s grip, his body like a sack of bricks._

_Leo cradles Ney’s bloody face to his chest, running his hands through his stupidly soft hair as his vision goes dark, and all he can hear is Ney’s screams, running around his head and he can’t stop them, he can’t block them out, he can’t-_

Someone touches him, and he jolts awake.

It’s Jordi, eyes wide with concern, and as Leo blinks his eyes open, he realizes the entire team is staring at him.

Gerard and Marc are peering over the back seat, Gerard’s eyes are wide and Marc looks like he’s been crying.

Luis still has his fingers tightly wrapped in Sergi’s curls, and Sergi himself is shaking, tears falling down his face as he peers over Luis’s chest at Leo, biting his lip so no sobs claw themselves out of his throat.

“You had a nightmare,” Jordi whispers. Leo shudders as he sits up, checking his phone for the time. _3:30_ glares at him in stark white numbers, and he runs a hand over his face. It’s like the car is holding its breath, nobody taking their eyes off of Leo.

“What?” he finally snaps. Jordi leans over and places a hand on his knee, his eyes wide. “You…you kept muttering Ney’s name in your dream, dude,” he said, and that was it, that was the final hit to the dam that held all of the feelings that Leo’s been keeping inside, and he starts crying, hot tears streaking down his face as he shakes, sniffling like a little kid.

He ignores Sergi’s and Marc’s gazes, because they’ve never seen him cry before, and he tries to stop the tears from falling down his face, but it feels like a fruitless attempt because they fall even harder than before.

He feels Jordi bring him into his lap and he pushes his head into his shirt, wetting it as he cries, balling the material in his fists.

“I just, I care so much about him, and I’m the captain, I’m supposed to take care of everyone and make sure nobody gets hurt, I’m supposed to be the father of this team, and now this happened and I just, I feel like I _let_ this happen, like I just ignored his hurt because I knew he’s been through worse and it didn’t look that bad, and I-”

Jordi shushes him then, pressing his hand against the side of his head. “You don’t have to carry this on your own, Leo,” he whispers in his ear, and it felt like an entire weight was lifted off of his shoulders, because anyone could have told him that, but when Jordi says it he means it, and Leo relaxes in his grip.

There’s movement in the car, and Leo looks up to see Gerard and Marc crawl over the back seat to sit on the floor, and Luis and Sergi move so they’ve formed a protective circle around him and Jordi’s seat. Marc rests a hand on his thigh as he snuggles back into Gerard’s tight grip. Sergi rests his head against the seat as he sits back in Luis’s lap, and Luis tangles his fingers in Sergi’s hair again.

This time, when Leo falls asleep, he feels warm and safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God, these two are ruining me. I'm gonna throw myself off a cliff.  
> Follow me on tumblr [here](http://anakins.co.vu/) or [here](http://neymarism.tumblr.com).


	3. bodies intertwined with his lips

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar's POV from Chapter 1.

_Neymar should’ve told someone._

_He didn’t even think when he banged his head on that couch. It was an accident, he could see it in Leo’s eyes, he didn’t mean it. Besides, Neymar had it coming by flailing his head around as he attacked Leo anyway. He’d said he was alright, glaring at Leo, and the conversation was dropped as Geri picked up the controller, declaring war on Mascherano and Argentina._

_Leo had forced some Tylenol down his throat as the headache started, hours after he kicked the boys out of his house. Leo had looked at him, so concerned and upset, that he couldn’t help but give him a weak smile and say he felt fine._

_He wasn’t, and still isn’t, but he didn’t want to break Leo’s heart any more than it already was._

_The game the next day is one he was looking forward to. It’s some team he can’t remember the name of, that was bottom of the league and fighting relegation. Luis remarks that it will be a blow-out, with a wolfish smile. Relegation teams were always interesting to play against, and Neymar was excited to finally pull some tricks out of his back pocket._

_The lights seem to glare in his eyes, and everything is too bright in the locker room. Neymar can hear Geri’s roars of laughter and it hurts his head, making his headache pound even harder. He contemplates rubbing his thumbs against his temples, nursing the headache away, but he sees Leo approaching him and tries to put a smile on his face._

_It’s not convincing enough, because Leo still moves towards him, gravitates towards him, and he lays a hand on his neck. His fingers feel cold, and Neymar shivers as he looks up at him, his brown eyes wide with concern. “Are you alright?” he asks, slowly, and Neymar almost feels himself say no._

_“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” he scoffs, trying to look away, but Leo’s face is making him feel things, things he’s not supposed to feel, and the hand on the back of his neck is making him remember that night they had after the win against Real Madrid, Leo’s fingers dancing across his skin and whispering things into his ear, about how good he was and how beautiful he looked like that, bare and wanting him, and the pathetic whimper that had spilled from his lips as he came…_

_He looks up at Leo again, and the Argentine just nods and moves away, a blush creeping up his neck like he’s seeing into Neymar’s thoughts, and he wonders, what did he think of that night? Was it a mistake? Neymar had been the first to leave, gathering his clothes and walking out without a word. Leo hadn’t mentioned it again, not at practice, and everything seemed back to normal until yesterday, when Leo had been pressed against him during that wrestling match, and Neymar couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe as Leo’s eyes had flicked down to his lips and back up._

_He blinks as the locker room door is opened, and they all spill out into the tunnel and walk out onto the field. He winces at the lights of the Camp Nou, and ignores Leo’s worried look at him as he focuses on keeping one foot in front of the other._

_…_

_The first half is, in one word, unbelievable._

_Leo had scored twice, and he’d leaped into Neymar’s arms as he did so. For some reason, he staggered instead of catching him, and the second time, Leo caught him instead. Neymar whispered that he was amazing over and over, and he’d never felt more alive when Leo was in his arms, but he tried to ignore Leo’s looks at him that made his neck flush as he ran back to the other side of the field._

_He’s running down the wing with a perfect throw-in ball from Gerard, and he sees Leo in his peripheral running down the middle of the field, wide open. The defender running with Neymar is tall and muscular, but his gait is slow as he tries to catch up. He whips around him, but his head collides with the defender’s shoulder as he pushes his chest out to stop him from getting to the ball._

_Neymar feels like his head is going to explode._

_He lays on the field, panting and scrunching his fingers in the grass, gritting his teeth as he feels his body shudder. Nothing feels right; it’s too loud and too bright, and Neymar can feel a burn in the back of his throat like when he was six and puked for the first time._

_He tries to sit up, but his sight is blurred. Everything is blurry, and the defender is talking to him, but it feels like he’s in another world._

_That’s when the burn runs up his throat, and his head explodes._

_There’s red in front of him, red all over his hands and stained on his teeth as he rolls his tongue across them, and he lurches forward again as he pukes, the repulsive copper taste from the blood forcing tears out of his eyes as salt mixes with copper._

_His vision goes white, and he can hear someone screaming. Someone is wailing, and it’s so loud that Neymar finally realizes that it’s him, he’s the one howling bloody murder and thrashing on the field. He feels the blood dribbling down his chin, and his heart is beating erratically and he’s suddenly terrified and he’s wondering where Leo is and-_

_He can feel Leo’s hand on his trembling shoulder, but he can’t see him; he can’t see anything. He can barely feel the grass now, and his white vision is ebbing, black appearing at the edges. He fights it, tries to move his hand to grasp Leo’s, try to calm him and tell him it’s alright, but he can’t move. His body feels out of his control, and he can’t speak or move or see and if this is what dying feels like then he’s happy he’s only doing this once._

_Leo’s voice hitches in pitch, and he starts yelling, his voice going away and Neymar fights, he fights like hell to control his stupid arms and try to reach for him, but he can’t. His body feels like a sack of blood and bones, like the last drop of his energy was spent writhing on the field and puking blood and crying._

_The darkness takes over his vision as he gives in, and the last thing he remembers before he blacks out is big brown eyes and his name on a pair of pretty pink lips._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for the wait, guys. I had to get some feedback from my beta-reader, and I hope you like this.  
> I also hope you guys are crying as much as I am. But I swear, it's going to get better. I promise. :)  
> Follow me on tumblr [here](http://neymessis.co.vu) or [here](http://neymarism.tumblr.com).


	4. hole in the middle of my heart like a polo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo and the team visit Neymar. There's mixed results.

Leo wakes up to someone knocking on the window.

He blinks open his eyes, glaring up at the window, and realizes he’s still in the car. The sky is colored a burnt orange, the sun just beginning to peek over the horizon, turning the clouds into cotton candy pink.

He stretches, and takes inventory of the boys in the car.

Sometime during the night, Luis and Sergi sprawled across the floor, Sergi’s head tucked into Luis’s chest, the top of his curly head the only thing visible underneath Luis’s arms. Marc is still curled up like a cat in Gerard’s lap, the defender’s arms wrapped around him tightly, the back of his head rests on the seat.

Someone moves beneath him, and Leo looks back.

It’s Jordi, sleepily wiping his eyes as he smiles at Leo. “Hey,” he rasps, rubbing the butt of his palm into his right eye, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. The Argentine smiles back, tightly, and they both jump as a furious knocking starts up on the window.

Jordi’s head whips back, and the two of them stare out of the window to see a short, brown-haired man with crazed green eyes knocking on the window.

“Dani,” Jordi breathes, and the two of them extract themselves from the seat as best they can, opening the door and jumping out of the car. Sergi moves a little, settling deeper into Luis’s grip, but nobody else wakes as Leo quietly shuts the door.

He’s encased in a pair of small arms, and he realizes it’s Dani attached to him, his face pressed into his shoulder.

Leo looks over Dani’s shaking form at the other people standing around the car.

Rafinha is also there, a brace on his knee and leaning on Ter Stegen for support. He looks like he hasn’t slept all night, his eyes glazed and tired, bags prominent underneath his eyes. Ter has his arm wrapped around Rafa’s shoulder, playing the strong and silent goalkeeper card he’s always played whenever they lost a game.

Mascherano is standing off to the side. His arms are folded across his chest, and he’s looking at Leo with a look that makes him feel very small; it’s the look he gives those forwards when they try to attack the goal, the one where you feel like you’ve been shoved underneath a microscope, bare and open for everyone to see.

Dani finally lets him go, and goes to open his mouth, but shuts it promptly and steps away. There’s nothing to be said, not after what happened. Leo knows, he knows that this is the point where they get tested as a team. Silence hangs in the air, and it feels like the air is buzzing in Leo’s ears.

The car door opens, and Sergi’s tired face appears, and he hops out of the car, followed closely by Luis, Gerard and Marc. The door slams, and the team is finally standing in a shaky circle, nobody looking at each other.

There’s nothing to really say.

Leo is about to say something when Mascherano speaks, his voice low and steady, and Leo will never understand why he doesn’t wear the captain’s armband. He’s mostly level-headed, and corralls them into their positions all the time with a simple yell of their name and a hand signal.

“I think we should go inside.”

There’s a mumble of agreement that sweeps the circle, and they walk inside of the hospital.

Mascherano goes to speak with the receptionist, exchanging words in rapid Spanish as Sergi and Marc sit down on the plush seats in the lobby. Dani comes and stands next to Leo, squeezing his bicep and giving him a small smile.

“You alright?”

Leo can feel Mascherano’s gaze burning into his head like a pair of lasers, and he feels his heart sink because it was Mascherano and Gerard who had been there at the scene. He can tell that they both feel as guilty as he does, but he says yes and looks down at the ground.

Dani drops the conversation, toeing the carpet with his shoe.

Mascherano eventually comes back over, saying that they can visit him, but only a few people at a time. “They don’t want to overwhelm him,” he explains, and Jordi scoffs. “Yeah, because he would totally tell that he was getting overwhelmed, right?” he jokes, but it falls flat and he looks away as Mascherano glares at him.

They gather in the hallway, sitting and surrounding the door to Neymar’s room. Rafa and Ter Stegen go in first, and Leo visibly winces as he hears a muffled choke, probably from Rafa, that sneaks out through the cracked door.

They’re in there for no more than thirty seconds before Rafa is tearing out of the room, tears running down his face as he runs down the hallway and into the bathroom, Ter Stegen running after him.

Nobody makes eye contact.

They all file in and out, one by one, until it’s just Dani, Jordi and Leo.

Dani goes in first, followed by Jordi, and Leo goes in last, closing the door behind him with a click.

The room smells like antiseptic and cleaning supplies. There’s a low beeping from the heart rate monitor next to the bed, a green line spiking every once in awhile with a small beep. The IV rack is standing on the other side of the bed, and Dani uses it to sit down in the chair next to the bed.

Neymar looks terrible.

He looks ashen, with a tube sticking out of his mouth and connecting to another machine. His head is bandaged around the crown, his blonde hair poking out from beneath the white gauze. His arms are clean again, his tattoos glaring against his pale skin.

Dani takes his hand, and he starts shaking as he looks down into his lap, biting his lip to keep from crying.

Jordi has moved next to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and rubbing it lightly as Dani starts crying, pathetic sobs spilling from his mouth as he clenches Neymar’s hand, so tightly that his knuckles turn white.

Leo doesn’t know what to say.

Well, he does, but he can’t say it with Dani and Jordi here, because they don’t know.

_They don’t know about he and Neymar._

Eventually, Dani starts to cry harder, and Jordi leads him out, giving Leo a look before exiting the room with Dani on his arm, sobbing into his shoulder.

Suddenly, Leo feels very alone.

He walks over and sits down in the chair, scooting it closer to the bed so his knees press against the side, and takes Neymar’s hand. It’s cold, and doesn’t feel like Neymar’s real hand anymore. He trails his fingertips across his forearm, tracing the clouds on his sleeve tattoo and up to Rafaella’s face, rubbing his thumb across her tattooed hair.

He brushes his hand across Neymar’s hair, letting it settle in the thin, soft strands and leaning over until his forehead is pressing against the cold grate of the side of the bed. He can’t stop the words that come out, but they’ve been brewing ever since they were in the tunnel, and he can’t keep them from spilling over any more.

“Ney, I-I’m so sorry. I was so, so stupid, so fucking _stupid_. I should’ve just said something, I should’ve told someone, I should’ve helped you and told you to not show up to the game because you weren’t well. I’m so sorry this happened to you, you don’t deserve this, after what happened in Brazil.”

He takes a deep breath and looks up, sweeping his hand over Neymar’s bandaged forehead.

It comes out as a whisper.

“I love you.”

**…**

_Neymar feels something warm around his hand._

_Someone’s talking to him._

_Lots of people have been talking to him lately, mostly sobbing at how he’s missed and how much they wish something like this had never happened to him. Those voices are sad, and it hurts him to hear the pain in those voices._

_But this voice sounds different. It sounds familiar._

_It dawns on him, finally, that it’s Leo._

_He wants to reach out and say something, squeeze his hand, anything. Anything to make Leo stay._

_So he fights._

_He starts fighting the dark, like he’s swimming upwards towards the white light in front of his vision. He’s almost there, it’s like he can reach out and touch it, but something yanks him back, and he let out a cry with his arms still outstretched towards the light as he fights the pull._

_He feels his heart stutter._

**…**

The room is suddenly very quiet, the blood pounding in Leo’s ears as he realizes what he said. He loves him? Does he?

Every touch they’ve had, every stupid kiss after a championship when they’re high on winning, every time they ended up in his bed with Neymar moaning as he hits it _just right_ , every look with those big brown eyes, top teeth biting down on his lip, they _meant_ something. It meant more than just being teammates to Leo, but his heart sinks as he realizes that it’s always meant more to Neymar, ever since he got him off after the Champions League match where they won.

Of course it had taken him to this length to realize he loves him.

“I love you, I love you so fucking much,” he says firmly, louder.

There’s a beeping that starts, urgent and panicked, and Leo’s head jerks up to see the line on the heart rate monitor going yellow.

**…**

_He can’t hold on._

_He starts crying, starts mumbling Leo’s name, and he can feel his brain emptying itself, like all of his memories are just pieces of discarded paper to be picked up and thrown into a furnace._

_He starts sinking, back down into the dark, and he loses consciousness with two big brown eyes emblazoned on the back of his eyelids and the feel of soft brown hair in his fingers and the words "I love you" in his ears._

**...**

“No! No, no, no, no!” he yells, bundled out of the chair as doctors and nurses seem to materialize out of the air, rushing to Neymar’s side. The monitor is now red, a bloody line pumping across the screen, and Leo feels like he’s going to faint because _Neymar can’t fucking die, he can’t, he can’t leave me here like this, he can’t just do that, he can’t-_

Arms wrap around his chest, dragging him away, and he bucks against the tight grip, feeling tears roll down his face as he sees the doctor with the glasses pull the AED out, assembling the pads quickly and carefully. Leo freezes as the doctor’s finger descends onto the shock button.

“Clear!”

Neymar jerks off of the bed, back arching as the electric shock runs through his body, but the heart monitor stays red.

“Clear!”

Leo starts sobbing again, reaching for Neymar, but the arms around him drag him fully out of the room like a doll. He doesn’t look around, because he knows his teammates are staring at him, watching him break down in front of them, so he concentrates his sight on the small window.

Neymar’s body jerks again, and the doctor comes over to the window, drawing the blind.

The arms around Leo finally release him, and he stumbles back against the wall, sliding down onto the floor, his hand on his forehead as he screws his eyes shut, his other hand gripping the knee of his jeans in a death grip.

_Please let this be a bad dream, someone please wake me up, please, please, please._

Sound feels muffled in his ears, the sound of the electricity surging through Neymar’s body still ringing in his ears, but he hears the door open. The doctor steps out, shutting the door behind him, and crosses his hands over his chest.

Leo hears someone speak, and he thinks it’s Luis from the accent.

“What happened?”

The doctor sighs. “He flatlined. We were able to bring him back, and he’s stable again.”

Leo sighs with relief, but stiffens as he continues.

“But no more visitors.”

The doctor walks away, and Leo’s heart feels like it’s breaking all over again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> more angst. sorry, i did promise better times, but for now it'll be bad. really bad.
> 
> next chapter will have a different point of view ;)


	5. my kiss can mend your broken heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dani gets really pissed. Mascherano consoles Leo. Marc and Sergi finally get it on.

The team had migrated back to the hotel in a daze.

They’d split up into the respective rooms in silence, and Leo went into his room where he and Neymar had slept together the previous night. He flopped down onto the bed, pushing his face into the sheets.

The day feels like decades ago. He can still smell the scent of sex and cologne, and even though Neymar’s side of the bed is cold, he can still feel the warmth that was pressing against his chest that night. He can still hear Neymar’s noises when he pressed into him; the long, drawn-out moan when he filled him completely, the whimpers when he came all over Leo’s chest, the whines that reverberated against Leo’s mouth as he sucked marks into his neck.

Leo doesn’t move for a while, his face pressed against the fluffy white duvet, before he gets up and moves to Neymar’s bag.

He pulls out one of his jerseys and pulls off his own shirt, pulling his on. It’s the one from their light blue kit, the one that brings out Neymar’s eyes and tattoos, and makes him look like a million dollars on the field. The jersey is a little big, but it’s soft from the fabric softener he uses and Leo pulls the bottom up and shuts his eyes, pressing the cloth to his nose.

He stays like that, standing in the middle of the room in just Neymar’s jersey, boxers and socks, for a few minutes before putting on shorts and lying back down on the bed, hands behind his head as he stares up at the ceiling.

A knock on his door brings him out of his daze, and he gets up, shuffling to the door and opening it.

He’s pressed against the wall in less than five seconds, Dani’s face centimeters from his own.

“What the-” he begins, but Dani starts yelling at him and he can’t help but stare at him.

“What the _fuck_ , Leo? You let him go! You let him fucking go on without saying anything to anyone! This could’ve been avoided if you had just fucking _said_ something! And now, Neymar’s in the hospital, my _best friend_  could die and it’s all your _fucking fault_ , Leo!”

Dani looks terrifying right now, his green eyes dark with rage and his mouth tightly shut. His hand that’s clenched on the front of Leo’s shirt is shaking, and it’s like he doesn’t even know what else to say. Leo feels like he’s imagining drilling holes into his head with his eyes.

“ _Dani!_ ”

Leo looks over Dani’s shoulder to see Mascherano standing in the hallway, arms folded across his broad chest, eyes narrowed as he watches Dani pin Leo up against the wall. The light behind him obscures his face, but Leo can tell from his set shoulders that he’s pissd.

Dani doesn’t move for a second, but when Mascherano barks his name again, he lets go of him, but not before spitting in his face. “ _Puta_ ,” he snarls, and stalks out of the room, brushing past Mascherano.

It’s suddenly too quiet.

Leo hears Mascherano move forward, and he feels him wipe the spit off his face and wrap his arms around Leo’s body, one hand on his head and the other on the small of his back, pressing the side of Leo’s face to his shoulder. Leo realizes his hands are balled into fists, and lets them go, just letting Mascherano rub circles onto his back through the jersey material and run his fingers through his thick hair.

“He’s wrong.”

Leo looks up to see Mascherano looking down at him, and he opens his mouth to say something when the defender presses his finger to his lips, effectively shutting him up. Leo watches him, eyes wide.

“It’s not, it’s not your fault. Don’t you dare ever think that was has been happening is all your fault. You couldn’t have known that that was going to happen to Neymar. None of us could have seen that coming. Maybe if we had done something, maybe things would be different, but who knows? He could be in a worse condition had we said something. We don’t know, and we’ll never know because it’s in the past and we have to move forward from this.”

The words sink into Leo’s head, repeating a mantra of _it’s not your fault it’s not your fault it’s not your fault_ around his brain, but he can’t get Dani’s look on his face out of his memory or the way his voice shook or the way he called him a bitch.

“But Dani-”

“-is angry. Of course he is, Neymar is his best friend and he doesn’t want anything to happen to him. He cares about him. But that was not the right way to go about this, and he is only doing it out of emotion.”

“But how did he know?”

Mascherano looks edgy then, biting his lip and not meeting Leo’s eyes.

“Jordi, Dani, Geri and I were all in the same room together, since Jordi’s and Dani’s room is connected to ours. Marc and Sergi had left to go to their room, and it had gotten awkwardly quiet. Then, Dani asked us what really happened, and Geri told him. He may have joked about how Neymar hit his head, and made it sound worse than it actually was, because Dani stormed out as soon as he was done. I went after him so he didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Oh.”

It’s quiet again, and Leo moves away from Mascherano, standing off to the side, looking anywhere but at the defender.

“Leo-”

“Don’t.”

He hears Mascherano start to walk away, but his footsteps stop before they go out of the room.

“I got a call from the doctor. He said that we can visit Neymar again in a few days, after the next game.”

Mascherano leaves with that, and Leo waits until the door is closed before he runs his fingers through his hair.

His phone vibrates, but he ignores it as he goes back to the bed, crawling in between the sheets and pressing his face into the soft pillow.

_He’d be able to see Neymar again._

Leo’s entire form shakes as he cries, tears spilling out onto the pillow, wetting the case. He’d be able to see him again. He’d be able to tell him he loved him. He could even wake up when he visited him again, but Leo didn’t want to have too much hope before he let himself down.

So he cries instead.

**…**

Marc wakes up with a jolt.

He sits bolt upright, bare and sweaty chest heaving as he looks around the room, catching his breath. He shuts his eyes, running his fingers through his hair and takes a deep breath in through his nose and out through his mouth, and opens his eyes to look over at the form sleeping next to him.

Sergi’s face is pressed against the pillow, curls askew across his forehead and eyelashes batting against his cheeks as he dreams. He makes a noise, and his eyes slide open as he looks at Marc, who thinks he looks adorable as he brings his hands up to wipe at his eyes.

“You okay?” he rasps, and Marc hesitates.

He’d been having these dreams for a while now, ones where instead of one of their teammates getting injured on the field, it was Sergi. But this time, Sergi was in the place of Neymar, brown curls matted to his head and blood trickling down his chin and staining his jersey, green eyes dazed and unfocused as he looks at him and screams.

Arms wrap around his middle and brings him back down onto the bed, Sergi’s bare chest pressed against his shoulder as he brings Marc’s chest to his own, pressing kisses across his jaw. “What’s wrong?” he whispers across his skin, and Marc trembles.

“Bad dream,” he mumbles. Sergi stops kissing him and moves far enough away so he can look at him directly in the eyes, his brow furrowed in concern. “About?” he prods, and Marc looks away.

“They’re...they’re about you, and instead of Neymar on the field, it’s you,” he says quietly.

He looks back up and sees Sergi’s dimples appear as he smiles widely, white teeth glittering as he entwines Marc’s shaking hand with his own, pressing his hand to his cheek. “That’s not going to happen to me,” he starts, but Marc cuts him off.

“No, it could. It could happen to any of us, and that is what scares me. I don’t-I _can’t_ lose you,” Marc stammers, and Sergi surges forward to kiss him. It’s slow and hot, Sergi’s hands curling around his neck to tug on his hair, eliciting a sharp moan from Marc as he licks into his mouth.

“I’ll make you forget about it,” he whispers across Marc’s lips, and Marc lets out a groan as Sergi’s lips move from his own to his neck, sucking and biting against his skin, reaching down inside of his boxers and grabbing his dick.

“Fuck,” he whimpers.

This had been going on for a while, this… _thing_ they had. Marc didn’t know what to call it, but he loved it. He loved Sergi; loved the glances he gave him in training, loved when he jumped into his arms as the team celebrated yet another goal, loved the way Sergi made love to him after games and during vacations. He _loved_ him, almost as much as Leo loves Neymar.  _Almost._

His thoughts get jerked around as Sergi’s hand starts moving, slowly jerking him off, and Marc has to clench his hand on the sheets to stop himself from fucking up into Sergi’s hand. His lips have reattached to his own, and they kiss lazily, Sergi’s other hand pressing himself above Marc, their bare chests brushing against each other.

Marc’s vision goes white as he comes with a final squeeze from Sergi’s firm grip, and Sergi smirks against his lips as he pulls his hand out, wiping it on the sheet. “You come so fast,” he giggles, and Marc frowns. “You’re just so hot that I can’t keep myself together,” he finds himself saying, and Sergi blushes. “Still lame, though,” he mutters, and Marc takes that chance to grab onto Sergi’s cock in his boxers.

Sergi’s giggle turns into a choked gasp, and his voice drops an octave as his head presses against Marc’s shoulder as he starts slowly jerking him off, his hand smearing precome and sweat across his cock.

“I didn’t like how Geri was holding you in the car,” he growls, and Marc smirks. He’d picked Geri on purpose, because he knows how jealous Sergi gets when he doesn’t have Marc to hold, doesn’t have Marc all to himself.

Sergi takes longer to come, but when he does he lets out a loud whine, face pressed almost painfully into Marc’s shoulder, panting as Marc feels his come shoot out in spurts, getting all over his hand and staining his boxers.

They lay like that for a while, Sergi getting his breath back and Marc’s nails skating across his broad back. Marc presses a kiss against Sergi’s sweaty curls, and Sergi finally sits back on his legs, planting his ass on Marc’s lap. Marc’s hands immediately go to his hips, pressing his thumbs into his hipbones, and Sergi’s lips break into a cheeky smile, rolling his hips once.

Marc's cock goes hard so quickly, his head starts swimming.

“I love you,” Sergi says simply, leaning down and cupping Marc’s face as he kisses him.

But there’s more there, more words unspoken.

_I’ll never leave you. I won’t lose you. I’ll never hurt you. I won’t let anything happen to you._

“We’re going to get through this together,” Sergi whispers, and Marc nods.

_We’ll make it through together._

He says it again, later when Marc’s back is pressed against the white tile of the shower and Sergi is fucking up into him, says it against his wet shoulder as Marc’s nails rake against his back and leave red marks across his shoulder blades. He says it as Marc comes with a high-pitched shout of his name, and Marc kisses Sergi full on the mouth as he fills him up to the brim and comes inside of him, white dripping down his thighs.

Marc believes him, because that’s all he can do.

That’s all any of them can do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the late update. and the smut wasn't done too well, but it's my first smut scene _ever_ , so I feel pretty accomplished. there will be terfinha eventually as well, and i ship sergi and marc so hard it's embarrassing ~~and marc isn't leaving barcelona lmao what are u talking about~~
> 
> follow me on [tumblr](http://neymessis.co.vu)! :)


	6. oh, dear boy, it’s so hollow without you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leo takes Thiago in to see Neymar, and there's a mixed reaction.  
> Rafinha and Ter Stegen take Davi Lucca in, and Leo reminisces on how he reacted.  
> Also, Mascherano gives some good news. (Finally.)

Leo feels like his ass has been glued to the crappy plastic hospital chair he’s currently sitting in.

He can hear Thiago talking next to him, and he shifts in the seat, blinking awake to the sound of the heart monitor. His eyes feel heavy and sticky, and his clothes are still stuck to his body from their last training earlier that day. It’s June, and it’s so hot to the point where Leo starts sweating as soon as he walks out of his house.

Lucho had finally let them out on summer break. That friendly game seems like years ago, even though it had only been a week. His muscles hurt from training so much, and he was glad to be on break and back with Antonella and Thiago and Mateo.

Antonella could tell he was worried about Neymar.

Antonella understood him. They weren’t exactly dating anymore, but they were together in a sense that was stronger than just romantic love. It was familial love; they were best friends, and they had a family together, and that’s what kept them together. That, and Antonella cared about Neymar.

After Leo had explained to her on the phone what had happened, she’d given him some good advice that had to deal with “not taking it public” because God knows what the fans would be saying; they already shit all over Antonella every waking minute of every day.

So Leo and Neymar met in secret, and Antonella always covered for Leo whenever she could.

It _worked_.

Leo had first brought Thiago in a few days back, while Mateo was asleep back at home. He could tell something was very wrong, because he didn’t blabber in broken Spanish to Neymar. He just sat in the chair for a while, pouting his lip as he watched the Brazilian’s clothed chest rise and fall.

They left the hospital room in silence that day, Thiago being very quiet and playing with his action figures in the backseat. Antonella didn’t say anything, just gave Leo a knowing look when he had walked into the door and she’d greeted them with a smile.

This time, however, is different, because he can see, out of the corner of his eye, that Thiago looking at him and opening his mouth to say something.

“ _Papi_ , when will he wake up?” he asks, and Leo finally swivels his head to look over at him.

Thiago has these massive brown eyes that he makes when he knows that Leo doesn’t feel good. He’d used them when Leo had hurt his knee back in November, and he’d been bedridden for a week. Thiago had crawled onto the bed (Leo didn’t question how he got up into the bed in the first place, because three-year-olds would do whatever it took to get to where they were going, as he learned from previous traumatic experiences), his soft hair brushing Leo’s outstretched arm as Thiago patted his wrapped-up knee and kissed it before looking up at Leo with a puffed-out bottom lip and big brown eyes.

He’s looking at him now with that identical expression, and looks thoroughly confused as to why Neymar isn’t responding to any of his little sentences.

Luckily, Thiago gives a big yawn, and Leo picks him up, whispering that it’s time to go and to wave at Neymar. He does, and he looks crestfallen as Neymar doesn’t wave back, looking down at his Power Ranger shoes as Leo walks out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

They make it to the car before Thiago repeats his question.

“You didn’t answer me, _Papi_ ,” Thiago said as Leo is buckling him in. His hands still on the gray buckle across Thiago’s chest, and he sighs, shutting his eyes before reopening them to look at Thiago, who is looking at him expectantly.

He uses the explanation that Rafinha had given Davi Lucca earlier in the week.

“Well, he hit his head very hard, and he fell asleep to make sure he gets better,” he says simply, because Thiago won’t understand the whole coma concept and the hemorrhage and he didn’t want to scare his child with horror stories of blood and broken skulls.

Thiago seems pleased with the answer, his attention then diverting to the toys sitting in front of him.

Leo makes it home without doing anything stupid, which is a blessing, because with recalling what Rafinha had said, he had started to remember Davi Lucca’s reaction to his father not waking up for him.

**…**

He’d been unusually quiet, like Thiago, but instead of just sitting in the chair and watching him, he moved to the side of the bed and started tugging on Neymar’s hand, whispering “ _Papai_ , wake up”, over and over. Then, he started crying and yelling at him to _wake up_.

He had been staying with Rafinha (Leo didn’t ask why he wasn’t staying with Carolina; that was already a sensitive subject, and nobody talked about her so Leo got the message), and he had brought Ter Stegen along with him (Leo didn’t question that, since he was pretty sure he knew why he hadn’t brought Dani). The goalkeeper’s broad form took up all the space behind Rafinha’s seat, and he followed him like a pale shadow as the Brazilian midfielder carried the crying child out of the room.

Rafinha set Davi down on the chair outside of the room and squatted down so that he was eye-level with him. Davi was still crying as Rafinha wrapped his broad, tan hands around Davi’s face, rubbing his thumbs softly over the toddler’s red cheeks.

“W-What’s wrong with my _papai_?” he whispered shakily, and Rafinha sighed.

“Your daddy had a problem with his head, and he’s asleep so that he can get better,” he began, but Davi Lucca had shaken his head, squeezing his eyes shut. “B-But when I get sick, I don’t ever get to sleep this long,” he whined.

Rafinha had looked to be at a loss for words until Ter Stegen, bless that German, came to the rescue and knelt down next to Rafinha, sending Davi Lucca a bright smile. The toddler’s lips had twitched to return the gesture, but he sniffled as little tears fell down his cheeks again.

Rafinha took his hands away, instead lying in Davi Lucca’s lap as the toddler clutched them with a tight grip. Ter Stegen starts speaking instead, in broken Spanish.

“Your daddy had an accident, and he hit his head very hard. He needs to sleep so that he gets better. This is not a cold that you get in the winter, or a headache you get when you are sick in the spring. It is something a lot bigger than that, so your daddy needs to sleep longer so that he can come back healthy again.”

Davi had seemed to understand him, because he sniffled and had given Ter Stegen a watery smile before looking back at Rafinha. “I-I-I want my _papai_ back,” he had cried, and the way he said it made Leo’s heart lurch. Rafinha placed his hands back on Davi’s cheeks, looking at him with a stern gaze.

“I know, _menino_ , we all do. We all miss him. But your _papai_ needs you to be strong right now. He needs you to be strong for yourself. I know he wouldn’t want you to quit when he is like this, because he never quit when you were sick either, no?”

Davi shook his head, and he had stopped crying as he looked at Rafinha with a new light of intrigue sparkling in his brown eyes. He had looked so much like Neymar in that moment, watching Rafinha speak. It had made Leo’s chest hurt.

Eventually, Davi Lucca yawned, and Rafinha had picked him up. Davi laid his head down, cheek squished against Rafinha’s shoulder as his eyelids began to flutter. As Rafinha walked down the hallway, he had suddenly pushed his hands against Rafinha’s chest to sit up again, peering over Rafinha’s shoulder to look at Ter Stegen.

“I like you!” he called, and Rafinha had stopped as he let out a school-boy giggle to look at Ter Stegen, who had gone bright-red from the tips of his ears to his neck. He looked down and rubbed the back of his neck, a shy smile tugging at his lips as Rafinha turned the corner and disappeared, Davi Lucca chattering in broken Portuguese.

Leo barely made it through that day without crying, again.

**…**

Antonella doesn’t say anything when he gets home, mainly because she spots Thiago’s sleeping form in his arms. She does smile at him as he walks in, and Leo nods at her as he throws the keys on the table and walks upstairs, putting the toddler into his bed. He wiggles around, getting himself comfortable, before rolling onto his side and passing out again.

Leo moves to his dresser as quietly as he can, looking through Thiago’s jerseys he’s gotten. He spies a white Real Madrid one, with _THIAGO_ spelled across the back and a shimmering gold _10_ underneath of it. Leo remembers opening the package from Ángel, nearly burning it with his eyes before Antonella had snatched it out of his grip.

The second one he finds is the Argentina jersey, again with _THIAGO_ on the back and another _10_ , this time in black, emblazoned on the striped cloth. Leo picks it up and presses it to his nose, his eyes sliding shut as he remembers the game.

Kun had come up to him afterward the game, handing him two small jerseys with a broad smile on his face. Benji had giggled in his arms, smiling shyly. “It’s for Thiago and Mateo,” he had said, and Leo had looked down at the jersey, spotting both of their names written in black on the back. He’d hugged Kun, telling him he didn’t have to do that for him, but his teammate had shrugged. “Don’t think anything of it, _amor_ ,” he said, and left with a wink and a big wave from Benji.

The last jersey is a Barcelona one.

This one has a _10_ on it, but instead of the name _THIAGO_ , there’s _PAPI_ embellished on the back in yellow letters. Neymar had given it to Thiago at the treble celebration, when he’d brought Davi with him. The jersey still smells like Neymar’s old cologne (since Neymar had apparently spent the majority of the celebration with Thiago, although Leo hadn’t seen pictures to prove it), since they hadn’t washed it after the celebration (Antonella had complained that he hadn’t gotten it dirty and he had only worn it once, and why waste an entire load of washing on a jersey that was practically clean?)

Neymar seemed to be everywhere in Leo's life, wherever he looked. He couldn't even go into his son's jersey drawer to escape the stupid Brazilian.

He’s interrupted from his hazy nostalgia by a ringtone going off.

Leo drops the jersey into the drawer and curses under his breath, silencing his phone immediately and half-running, half-hopping out of Thiago’s room to dodge the mess of Lego’s on the toddler’s floor. Thiago hadn’t woken up, thank goodness, and Leo shut his door lightly before calling the number back. He’s met with Mascherano’s characteristically loud voice yelling in rapid and vulgar Spanish, and someone else is speaking with equal volume back at him.

“What’s wrong?” Leo hisses as he walks down the hallway.

“ _Oh, thank God I reached you. Geri is freaking out right now, because you didn’t answer your texts. I told him you’d turn your phone off whenever you were with Thiago, but he’s still mad._ ”

Leo pauses.

“Why is Geri angry? What’s going on?”

Mascherano doesn’t respond at first, but when he does, Leo feels his blood pressure spike.

“ _I-It’s Neymar. He’s responding._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the wait! I wasn't sure how to say _"daddy"_ in Portuguese, so I plugged it into Google Translate. Let me know if it's wrong.
> 
> Next chapter will be posted sooner than this one, I can promise you that. :-)
> 
> (Yes, I am aware that i'm not using the "Over Again" lyrics as titles. Judge me.)


	7. so hold on, hold on to what we are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar wakes up. Lots of stuff goes down.

Leo nearly drops his phone.

“He’s _what_?”

_“He’s responding. The doctor started asking him if he could hear him, and Neymar’s hand clenched around Geri’s. He should wake up sometime today, at least that’s what the doctor says.”_

Leo doesn’t even remember putting his shoes on or grabbing his keys again. He ignores Antonella’s surprised gasp, shouting that he needed to go back to the hospital before busting out the door and into his car.

He broke the speed limits way too many times on the way there, but he didn’t really care because _Neymar was going to wake up. He was going to be okay._

The car doesn’t move fast enough for him, lights flashing across his vision as he stumbles out of the car, barely remembering to turn it off and lock it as he runs into the hospital lobby. The receptionist says something, but Leo doesn’t turn back as he runs up the stairs and stops dead at the beginning of the hallway.

Mascherano and Luis are standing in front of Neymar’s room, and Rafinha is sitting on one of the plastic chairs with Davi Lucca in his lap, the toddler dozing off on his chest with his little legs dangling around Rafa’a thigh. Ter Stegen is standing next to him, scrolling down his phone with his arms crossed over his chest.

Mascherano looks up as Leo appears, moving and standing next to him, leading him down the hallway. Leo doesn’t ask why he’s doing this, because he just ran up three flights of stairs, he can walk down a little hallway, but when they open the door, Leo silently thanks him and Luis for their strong hands on his shoulders.

The room hasn’t changed, except for the doctor standing to the side of Neymar’s heart monitor, writing on his clipboard. The doctor looks up and sends him a soft smile, but Leo doesn’t return it as he moves to sit down next to Neymar.

The Brazilian doesn’t have an air tube down his throat anymore, just the air tube around his head with the nubs in his nose to help oxygen circulation. He still looks pale, but not as bad as he had when Leo had seen him right after the accident.

Leo wipes his palms on his jeans, and just watches.

Rafinha sits down next to him, and Davi Lucca slides off of his lap to stand in front of the midfielder’s knees, his hand resting on Leo’s big hand on his thigh. Leo sees him look up at him in the corner of his eye, and then the toddler looks forward, copying Leo’s stance of him looking at Neymar.

He faintly hears the doctor walk over and start talking to Mascherano and Luis, who are standing behind Leo.

“He started responding this morning to words. He didn’t open his eyes or become fully conscious, but he’s started having dreams again, and his thought waves have been spiking periodically. I don’t know what the damage will be, but it seems like he’ll make a full recovery. Truly a miracle, and something I haven’t seen in a long time in my career.”

Suddenly, there’s movement on the bed.

Leo’s brain goes into overdrive.

He can feel the blood pumping in his ears, feels his heart rate escalate, feels his pupils dilate as Neymar’s head moves, his hand clenching and unclenching.

For the first time in a week, Neymar opens his eyes.

Leo’s heart skips a beat.

The Brazilian looks confused, at first, squinting in the light, before slowly sitting up and rubbing lightly at his eyes.

Davi Lucca’s eyes go massively wide, and his entire face splits into a grin as he launches himself onto the bed, shouting “ _Pai!_ ” at the top of his lungs. Leo sees Rafinha start forward to grab him, but Leo puts his hand across his chest. Rafinha looks at him incredulously, but Leo doesn’t turn to look at him. He’s watching Neymar, watching his expression as he looks at his child.

He looks confused still, but then his eyes crinkle and his mouth splits into a grin as he hugs his giggling, wriggling toddler to his chest, pressing a kiss into his blonde curls and running his hands across his thin t-shirt.

Davi moves to the side, and Neymar takes all of them in.

“Rafa!” he exclaims in a raspy voice, and the fellow Brazilian moves forward with a smile, hugging his friend to his chest as Davi giggles in between them. Leo doesn’t have to look behind him to see Ter Stegen smiling dumbly at Rafinha, who has his head buried in Neymar’s neck.

Rafinha says something muffled into Neymar’s neck, and the Brazilian does his best at laughing as he pulls away, readjusting the cap on his head. “Never better,” he says, before his eyes land on Leo.

Neymar’s smile goes away, replaced by a loud gasp as his eyes goes wide. He looks like he’s twenty again and meeting Leo for the first time in that Santos game that they played against each other for the Club World Cup a while ago, and he looks over at Mascherano and Luis as if looking for an explanation as to why he’s here.

“How did you get Lionel Messi in my hospital room?”

The room goes dead quiet. Even Davi Lucca, who had been chattering in broken Portuguese to Neymar, has gone silent, staring at his father in the most comic look of shock that if Leo didn’t feel like his heart had just been wrenched out of his ass, he would be laughing.

“ _Pai_ , you play football with him. He’s your friend,” Davi says, but Neymar’s eyes don’t leave Leo’s. He’s got this look of confusion on his face, and Leo can practically see the steam coming out of his ears as the gears in his head start turning.

Leo’s mouth is dry as he starts to speak, but Mascherano interjects, moving around to sit in Rafinha’s unoccupied seat. “What do you remember, Ney?” he prompts, and Neymar’s brow furrows as he thinks. Davi is still staring at him, looking very worried.

“Well, I remember winning the Champions League, if that helps. After that, I don’t remember anything.”

Leo feels like his hands are frozen onto his knees.

Mascherano’s hand is on his neck, placed like a vice to hold him together as he smiles reassuringly at Neymar. “Yeah, that’s fine. Rafinha can fill you in on everything that’s happened,” he says quickly, before leading Leo out.

“Thanks for visiting me!” he hears Neymar say, but he knows he only means it because he’s Lionel Messi, the best football player in the world.

Not because he's _just Leo._

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Luis has closed the door and moved to stand next to Mascherano in front of him.

His hands are sweaty, and his head feels light. His vision is blurry, and he finally leans forward into Mascherano’s open arms, breaking down in tears.

The defender doesn’t say anything, just runs his hands across his back and presses Leo’s head to his chest, whispering Spanish into his ear. Luis’s hand joins Mascherano’s on his back, but the striker doesn’t say anything.

“H-He doesn’t remember me.”

It comes out as a small whimper, and Mascherano moves him off of his chest and plants his hands on his shoulders, tipping Leo’s head up until he’s looking into his eyes.

“Yeah, he doesn’t, not right now. But the doctor says he’ll make a full recovery. He’ll remember you, Leo, I promise. You’re unforgettable,” Mascherano whispers, and Leo’s eyes widen at how gentle he sounds, like he’s coaxing a frightened animal. The worst part is that he almost wants to believe him, wants to believe that Neymar will remember him, wants to place all his hope in that Neymar’s full recovery will include his memory.

But he can’t.

Mascherano brings him into his embrace again, and Leo shakes as he cries into his chest. He can hear him speaking to Luis in a hushed voice, telling him to drive him home.

Leo moves again, and tucks himself under Luis’s arm as he walks down the hallway, away from Mascherano and out into the cold night. The wind bites at his skin, but he doesn’t care because he can’t feel it anyway.

He can’t stop thinking about what Neymar had said.

_How did you get Lionel Messi in my hospital room?_

Luis doesn’t say anything, or doesn’t know what to say from what Leo can tell. The Uruguayan has only been on the team for a season, but Leo feels closer to him than any other forward he’s ever played with. Luis just gets it, he just understands. Maybe it’s the fact that they both have children close in age, or the fact that they’re both from Spanish-speaking countries; whatever it is, Leo likes Luis.

Luis eventually drives up to his house and pulls into his driveway, and gets out with him. Leo looks at him in surprise as Luis shuts the door and locks it with a beep, and the striker looks at him with a wide smile. “Masch told me to bring you home and stay over, in case you do something stupid,” he says simply, walking up to the door and opening it.

Leo follows in soon after, and spots Antonella in the living room, cleaning up the mess of Thiago’s toys. The boys must be asleep, and Leo looks at the time, rubbing his eyes. _23:15_ glares at him with harsh white letters from the digital clock on the wall, and he lets out a yawn.

Antonella walks over to him and hugs him, her small frame pressed against his side as she rests her head on his shoulder. Luis is nowhere to be found, and Leo glances around the room for him until Antonella speaks again, removing herself from his side and walking back over to the explosion of toys next to the couch.

“I told him he could take the guest room down the hall,” she says simply, and Leo nods to himself, falling onto the couch and covering his face. After a few minutes, he feels the couch dip, and Antonella’s legs appear underneath his head, her nails running through his hair and across his neck.

“What happened, _amor?_ ” she whispers, and Leo doesn’t know what to say.

He hears Antonella sigh. “Leo,” she says again, and her fingers curl around his as she moves his hands away from his face, nudging him until he sits up again, his head on her chest instead. They’re stretched out on the couch, her legs entwined with his and his head on her chest, her fingers carding through his hair.

The words are stuck in his throat, but he manages to get them out without crying.

“Neymar woke up, and he didn’t remember me.”

Antonella’s fingers still for a moment, before starting up their massaging motion again. “So, he knew you but didn’t know you?” she asks, perplexed, but Leo just nods without saying anything. He doesn’t want to talk, not right now. Preferably not ever, but he knew Antonella wouldn’t let him go on self-destructing himself like this.

“He knew me, but he didn’t know me as _Leo_. He didn’t know _me_ , Anto, and it was like we were getting introduced to each other all over again. It was like the past few months had never happened.”

Now that is hard to admit, because Leo is already feeling like shit over the fact that Neymar only saw him from a fanboy view as of right now. But now, as he realizes how much Neymar didn’t remember, he realizes he really didn’t remember.

He didn’t remember those post-goal hugs.

He didn’t remember _that night._

_He didn’t remember how Leo had told him he loved him._

Leo feels tears start to fall down his face again, and Antonella doesn’t press him to say anything else. She just holds him and runs her fingers through his hair, and that’s all he needs right now.

“Just don’t forget what he means to you, Leo. Don’t forget how much he means to you.”

Leo can’t do anything but nod and fall asleep to the feel of Antonella’s nails in his hair and her reassuring murmurs in his ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there's a good thing that happened, depending on your point of view. Also, there's going to be a hell of a surprise to the team in the next chapter, but that'll have to do with the other tagged ships in the fic. That's all I'm going to say. ;)


	8. in this world full of people, there's one killing me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gerard learns the truth.  
> Leo cries some more.  
> Mascherano and Gerard come up with a master plan.

There’s a knock at the door the next morning, and Leo is reluctant to get up.

Nevertheless, the knocking persists, and Leo stifles a groan as he lightly pushes his covers off of him and gets up, making sure he doesn’t wake Antonella as he pads softly out of the room, shoving socks on as he goes to lighten his footfalls. The numbers  _ 03:16 _ are blurred and white in his vision, but they make Leo feel so goddamn tired all of a sudden.

Other than a snuffle from Mateo’s room, there’s no sound other than the aggravating hammering on the door.

Leo finally makes it downstairs and to the door, swinging it open and growling at the irritating knocker, because honestly, what kind of human knocks on a door that loud at  _ three in the fucking morning? _

“Listen, if you wanted to annoy me, you did a pretty good fucking job of-”

He stops when he realizes it’s Gerard standing on his porch, his silhouette blocking the porch light and illuminating his figure in an eerie yellow light.

Leo doesn’t know what to say, so he just says what comes to mind.

“What the  _ fuck, _ Geri? It’s three in the morning!”

Gerard rubs the back of his head, looking pretty awkward and not saying anything except for breathing heavily like he’d just run all the way from his house to Leo’s. Judging by the lack of a car in Leo’s driveway (Luis had apparently left, because his car had disappeared), he probably had.

“I heard about Neymar. From Mascherano.”

And there it is.

The real reason why Gerard fucking Piqué ran for God knows how long to Leo’s house.

Because he just found out that Neymar didn’t remember Leo.

Leo made a mental reminder that he owed the defender big time as he stepped aside, letting Gerard squeeze his massive frame into the house.

There’s water on the counter, and Leo hastily grabs two bottles and gestures for Gerard to come to the sofa with him. He does, reluctantly, as if he’s questioning why he came here in the first place before he sits down and unscrews the cap, downing half the bottle before placing it back on the coffee table in front of him and looks Leo right in the eyes.

“Tell me everything.”

And so Leo does. He tells him how Neymar woke up and he didn’t remember him, how he thought Leo was Lionel Messi, the best player in the world and shit, but not  _ Leo. _ He told him about how he came home and Antonella held him, how she told him he mattered and Neymar would remember him.

Gerard doesn’t say anything, but Leo feels the defender’s arms encircle his shaking frame, and he presses his face into his soft black shirt, breathing in his cologne and trying not to cry. He fails miserably, as he has in the past week, and he starts sobbing into Gerard’s shirt, clutching the fabric between his fingers.

Gerard lets him cry, rubbing his back softly and whispering “ _ it’s okay, it’s okay _ ”, but it’s a lie. Leo knows it’s not okay, it’ll probably never be okay if Neymar never regains his memory, but for right now he decides to lie to himself and say that it  _ is _ okay.

It’s not perfect, obviously, but it’s okay, because Gerard is here and he’s holding him tight, and Leo can always count on him to be there for him, like Luis and Mascherano.

It slips out between sobs.

“I slept with Neymar.”

There it is, out in the open like an ugly wound, and Leo wants nothing more than to pluck the words out of the air and stuff them back down his throat.

He can’t, so he just waits for Gerard’s reaction.

Gerard tenses against him, his hands still on Leo’s back. Leo moves back and looks up at gerard, who’s looking at him with an unreadable expression on his face that’s making him look extremely intimidating and making Leo feel  _ very _ small.

“You did  _ what? _ ” he hears Gerard whisper, and Leo repeats it, louder this time.

The silence is awkward, for obvious reasons, and Gerard runs his fingers through his hair before standing up, letting out a sigh. He grabs his water bottle and makes for the door, and Leo’s head falls into his hands and feels  _ awful. _

_ Why did I have to say that? He’s never going to forgive me now. He’s never going to understand why I did what I did, how much I love him. He’s not going to- _

“I knew, you know.”

Leo’s head jerks up and meets Gerard’s gaze, the defender’s hand resting on the bronze doorknob, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. He gestures down at Leo’s shirt, before winking and walking out the door, shutting it behind him quietly.

Leo’s eyes are met with the Brazilian national team crest on his shirt, and he looks in the mirror opposite him.

The letters  _ NEYMAR JR _ are emblazoned on the back in a dark green.

Leo smacks a hand to his forehead.

_ Of course. _

 

**…**

 

holy shit, masch, you never told me leo and neymar were fucking!!!

**_piquenbauer,_ ** **3:43am**

 

Seriously. This is what you wake me up at 3am for?

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:43am**

 

Wait. WHAT.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:43am**

 

leo just told me.

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:44am**

 

that, and the fact that he was wearing neymar’s brazilian jersey kind of alluded to that fact.

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:44am**

 

Oh my God. This is all kinds of messed up.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:46am**

 

i know!! we can’t let anyone know about this though, okay? i’m pretty sure half the team knows anyway…but still.

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:47am**

 

…Nice. Nice fucking going, man. How are we supposed to keep this secret.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:47am**

 

NEYMAR DOESN’T EVEN REMEMBER LEO.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:48am**

 

listen, we can make this work. we can get neymar’s memories back, because all we need to do is have leo be around him enough for him to start remembering!

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:50am**

 

………….I can’t believe you’re being serious right now. 

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:53am**

 

I seriously can’t believe you think that crazy idea is going to work.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:54am**

 

I also can’t believe I’m agreeing with you.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:55am**

 

so you’re down with operation neymessi????

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:56am**

 

Piqué, I swear to God, never say that again.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 3:57am**

 

whatever. you’re on board, so what should we do?

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 3:59am**

 

Get Leo over to Neymar’s house. Make him cook him dinner or something. And make sure that they’re always partnered together for training. Don’t make it look obvious.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:01am**

 

thanks masch!!! this is gonna be so good.

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 4:03am**

 

I can’t believe I’m going along with this.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:04am**

 

But it’s for Leo, and he deserves to be happy, and if this is it, then fine by me.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:04am**

 

<3

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 4:05am**

 

Stop showing me affection and go to bed, asshole. We have training tomorrow, or technically today.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:06am**

 

night masch <333

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 4:07am**

 

Fuck off.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:08am**

 

But goodnight, Geri.

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:10am**

 

Don’t wocka-wocka too hard before training. ;)

**_mascherano_ ** **, 4:12am**

 

SHUT THE FUCK UP MASCH

**_piquenbauer_ ** **, 4:15am**

 

**_Read at 4:16am_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, this took so long to put up. Also, the chapter got really long, so I had to split it into two parts. This first part deals with neymessi (obviously), but the next chapter will have some ter/rafinha and sergi/marc action. ;)
> 
> I'll get the second part up very soon! Thank you guys for sticking around through my writer's block. :)


	9. lay me down, blow my mind, let’s take it all the way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Piqué finds out about everything.  
> Sergi and Marc are stunned and embarrassed.  
> Ter Stegen and Rafinha just want to fuck without interruptions for once.

Marc Bartra did _not_ like being woken up in the middle of the night.

The annoying doorbell sounds, and he groans, moving around in bed. He tries not to wake Sergi, who is currently sound asleep, face pressed against his bare shoulder and small snores slipping out of his mouth.

Marc eventually extracts himself from the smaller boy’s grip, and Sergi groans in his sleep, rolling over and tugging the sheets with him. Marc brushes his hand over his curls again and almost forgets about the person at the door until they start pounding on the door instead, evidently deciding that the doorbell didn’t work.

“Fucking hell,” Marc mumbles under his breath as he slips a pair of socks on, not even bothering to put on a shirt as he stumbles down the stairs, raking his fingers through his thick black hair as he swings open the door.

Gerard Piqué is standing on his doorstep.

Marc is lost for words for a few moments, and then he finally finds the words he wants to say.

“What the hell?” he hisses. Geri doesn’t say anything, but his eyes rake across Marc’s nearly-naked form, his gaze lingering on the lovebite forming on Marc’s chest.

Marc shuffles in place, and it’s awkward for a couple seconds as Gerard stares at his chest. It’s not like they haven’t seen each other shirtless before; in fact, Marc faintly remembers that he had sucked him off in the bathroom after a game (was it Valencia or Villarreal? Marc could never remember).

Marc silently prays that Geri doesn’t ask him to do that again, because he wouldn’t be able to knowing that Sergi was sleeping soundly upstairs.

Geri lets himself in, brushing past Marc and going into his fridge, grabbing a water.

Marc is definitely confused at this point. Why is Geri even here? What did he want?

And then he remembers Sergi.

_Oh my God, what if he knows about Sergi and I? What if he doesn’t approve? What if-_

“Bartra.”

Marc’s head snaps up, looking at Geri who is looking at him with a wicked smile on his face. “It’s not who I think it is in your bed upstairs, is it?” he asks, and Marc’s face gets really hot all of a sudden, and he can’t meet Geri’s eyes, not answering. He doesn’t even want to talk about _her_ , not with Sergi lying in _her_ place in his bed in his own house.

Apparently, Geri didn’t need an answer, because he’s racing up the stairs before Marc can even say a word.

“Geri!” he hisses, sprinting after him and tripping over the top step thanks to his socks, falling face-first onto the wood with a loud huff.

He looks up and sees Geri standing in the doorway, frozen.

Marc gets up, looking around Geri’s form and sees Sergi, sitting up in bed and rubbing his eyes, holding the sheet up to his chest. “What’s going on?” he mumbles sleepily, and that’s when his hand comes down from rubbing his eyes and Marc sees him eye up none other than Gerard Piqué standing in the bedroom doorway.

Sergi’s face morphs from sleepiness into pure shock and disbelief in less than a second, and he lets out a shrill scream as he throws a pillow at Geri’s head. Of course, Geri ducks out of the way, letting Marc take the full blunt of the throw, knocking him down onto the floor for the second successful time tonight.

“I fucking _knew_ it!” Geri yells, thrusting his hands in the air before pulling out his phone, his fingers blurring over the keyboard as he texts someone before running back down the stairs. He pauses to help Marc up, who is left standing on the landing with a pillow in his hand and a look of disbelief embedded on his face. Geri smacks him on the shoulder and gives him the biggest grin Marc has ever seen.

“Nice going.”

And with that, Geri is gone, out the door with a whoop and suddenly, the room is quiet.

Marc is still holding the pillow, and looks at Sergi, who looks equal parts embarrassed and incredibly pissed off. “How did he even find out?” Sergi asks, breaking the silence, and Marc’s heart starts beating very loudly because he remembers that post-game shower. He remembers talking to Geri afterwards (mainly hushed voices as Marc washed out his mouth). He remembers the conversation they had, about Sergi.

That’s when he remembers that he _told Geri they were fucking._

Marc goes rigid.

“Marc? Are you okay?” Sergi asks, getting up and standing in front of him, cupping Marc’s cheeks in his hands, rubbing his thumbs over Marc’s high cheekbones. It’s relaxing, or it should be, but Marc is too on edge about what he told Geri. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just covers one of Sergi’s hands with his own and sighs, looking away.

A hand moves from his cheek to his chin, forcing him to look at Sergi’s wide, green eyes. His brow is furrowed, and he looks concerned.

It comes out without meaning to.

“I-I sucked Geri off in the showers after a game and I slipped up and told him.”

Sergi doesn’t move, doesn’t stop rubbing his thumbs across Marc’s cheekbones, and doesn’t stop staring at him. There’s no flicker of amusement in his eyes, but there’s no flicker of anger either. Instead he mumbles “you’re so dumb” as he tugs Marc down and seals their lips together.

Marc’s hands fumble against Sergi’s sides, trying to find a grip on him as he melts into his mouth, moaning a little when Sergi’s tongue licks a long stripe across his bottom lip. They break away much too soon, and Sergi pulls him onto him as they flop back on the bed in a tangle of limbs.

Sergi breaks into laughter, and Marc starts giggling nervously before crawling up and hovering just above Sergi, looking at him and his messy curls and his dark green eyes and wondering how on earth he’d gotten this goddamn lucky.

“You’re not mad?”

Sergi rolls his eyes.

“Of course not, it was going to happen eventually. I figured you would be the one to spill, you and your big mouth” he jokes, and Marc smirks a little before attaching his mouth to Sergi’s sweaty shoulder, feeling the groan ripple through his chest as he licks and sucks across his skin.

“I can put my big mouth to better use,” he whispers across the tenderly wet skin, and he feels Sergi arch underneath of him, nodding furiously.

Marc soon forgets about Geri as he immerses himself in Sergi.

* * *

 

Hey, Geri. Can you pick some clean clothes up from Neymar’s house?  
 ** _lionel_ , 5:45am**

yeah sure. this is for when he gets released tomorrow, right?  
 ** _piquenbauer_ , 5:45am**

Yeah. Just get a shirt and jeans and shoes. The normal stuff. And also grab my jersey from Neymar’s house. He kept stealing it and I don’t want him to feel awkward having it in his house.  
 ** _lionel_ , 5:47am**

okay. also, you’re going over to neymar’s house tomorrow for dinner. hope you’re ready for that.  
 ** _piquenbauer_ , 5:48am**

WA IT WGAT  
 ** _lionel_ , 5:50am**

yep. mascherano told me to tell you. i’ll be over to pick you up around 8!!!!  
 ** _piquenbauer_ , 5:52am**

FUCK YOU GERI  
 ** _lionel_ , 5:55am**

* * *

 

“We’re finally alone.”

Ter Stegen looks up, seeing Rafinha leaning on the edge of the couch, a smirk on his face. Ter rolls his eyes, walking over and placing his hands on Rafinha’s face, giving him a short kiss on the lips before moving to the coffee table to grab his keys.

Rafinha’s hand on his hip stops him.

Ter looks at him in surprise, before narrowing his eyes. “Rafa, we can’t do this in Neymar’s own _house_ on his _couch_ , not with Davi upstairs,” he growls, but Rafinha isn’t listening as he pulls Ter towards him and seals their lips together again, making Ter whimper at his ferocity.

“He’ll deal with it. He fucked Leo on my couch, so it’s only natural that this is payback, and we’ll just keep quiet,” he feels Rafinha say across his lips, and Ter just shrugs, winding his fingers into the belt loops of Rafinha’s jeans as he expertly maneuvered them around the back of the couch and bends Rafinha over the arm, his lips running over Rafinha’s sweaty neck, licking his way down to where his neck and shoulder join.

Their shirts are gone in seconds, along with their pants and Ter presses Rafinha up against the back of the couch, hovering over him and mumbling broken German as Rafinha’s hand sneaks into his black boxers and grabs ahold of him.

“Scheiße,” Ter breathes, and Rafinha looks up at him with massive brown eyes, his mouth splitting into a grin as he gave his dick a few strokes. Ter feels his arms start to shake, and he feels Rafinha clamp a hand over his mouth as he starts to let out a whine, the noise getting choked in his throat as he swallows it and nods, biting into Rafinha’s hand as the Brazilian’s hand starts to move faster.

Not to be outdone, Ter slips his hand into Rafinha’s own boxers, watching the Brazilian’s eyelids flutter and a mumbled curse in Portuguese slip out of his mouth as he grabs ahold of Rafinha’s dick and gives him a quick pump before massaging his hand across the entire length, rubbing his thumb over the slit.

Rafinha lets out a whine, and Ter makes sure he cuts it off as he seals their lips together, the noise diminishing into Ter’s mouth as he cups Rafinha’s face with his free hand, running his thumb over his cheekbone as Rafinha trembles underneath him, his movements on Ter’s dick jerky and shaky as he starts groaning loudly into Ter’s mouth.

That’s when Ter notices movement in the living room, and a shadow passes through the room before he hears footsteps.

He hasn’t moved that fast in his life other than saving those shots when they played Bayern Munich during the Champions League, shielding Rafinha with his body and removing his hand from his boxers, the motion accompanied by a little whine from Rafinha before Ter clamps a hand down on his mouth, silencing him.

Gerard Piqué appears in the doorway, looking down at his phone until Ter lets out a cough, and he looks up.

The alarmed scream that echoes around the house makes Ter cringe.

“What the fuck?” Geri yells, repeating it over and over as Ter stands up, creeping over to Geri. “Geri, please shut up, Davi is sleeping,” he says, but Geri cuts him off as he points to Rafinha, who is peeking over the top of the couch, clutching the blanket to his chest.

“You’re fucking on his _couch_? What the hell has possessed you two?” the defender hisses, and Ter winces as he hears small footsteps echo down the staircase, and Davi Lucca appears behind Geri’s legs, peering around the defender with half-open, sleepy eyes and mussy blonde hair.

“Why are you yelling? _Pai_ says no yelling in the house,” Davi mumbles, and Ter scoops him up as Geri laughs, messing with Davi’s hair. The toddler giggles, pushing his head into Ter’s bare shoulder and resting his cheek there as Ter rubs his back.

“Sorry, I just had to pick some stuff up for when I go get Neymar,” Geri says, holding up a bag of clothes (Ter doesn’t comment on the Argentina jersey; that’s none of his business) and Rafinha finally moves from the couch, draping the blanket around him like a cape. “I’ll take him back to bed,” he whispers at Ter, ignoring Geri as he takes Davi Lucca from him, the toddler letting out a loud yawn as Rafinha walks away, his loud footfalls echoing up the stairs until it’s just Ter and Geri standing in the living room.

Ter looks over at Geri, whose hands are curled over his chest.

“What?” he says defensively. Geri just rolls his eyes and pats him on the shoulder, giving him a grin underneath his beard. “You two are so married,” he says, and walks off.

“I’ll leave you two to it, then!” Ter hears him yell before the door slams.

Ter groans and smacks his head against his hand as Rafinha comes back downstairs, coming up in front of him and removing his hand from his face, smiling widely at him. “Did Geri give you shit for what we were doing?” he asks, and Ter nods, leaning his forehead on Rafinha’s shoulder as the Brazilian wraps his arms around him, pulling him close.

“You know, you never finished me off,” Ter whispers against Rafinha’s bare shoulder, and he feels Rafinha shudder as he licks a line up to Rafinha’s ear.

“F-Fuck, okay, but we can’t be loud,” he hears Rafinha stutter, and Ter smirks, pushing him back on the couch again.

“I’ll try, amor.”

(He doesn’t, but luckily Rafinha doesn’t scream his name loud enough to awaken Davi again.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TA DA! I'm so sorry this took me so long to update, I just haven't had time to write. But the next chapter is going to be great: it's finally time for the Big Reveal. :)


	10. i realize that without you here, life is just a lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neymar remembers.  
> Leo thinks he's dreaming.  
> They're both a mess.

He’s laying in bed, staring up at the ceiling, and _thinking_.

He can hear Leo moving around in the other room, and finally the light shuts off in the hallway as he hears him fall onto the covers in the guest room, and it’s quiet again.

Neymar can’t process a lot of things right now. The doctor told him to take it slow, to not overthink too many things, but he can’t help it. He’s always overanalyzed things, during a game and in interviews and even out with his friends in Brazil, because sometimes you had to so you didn’t get tackled and injured or had drugs spilled into your drink.

But the one thing that’s bugging him is the man in the other room.

Leo had been acting weird ever since Neymar had woken up. He’d kept his distance, and was polite but not like Neymar remembered him. That, of course, bugged him, because Leo used to be so open when he first arrived in Barcelona, so appreciative of him, but something happened, something had to have happened, something that Leo had done that Neymar had forgotten.

It was infuriating, this amnesia bullshit. He remembered everyone on the team, thank God, and Davi, but he didn’t remember Leo. He didn’t remember anything about Leo, only that he was the best player in the world and his idol.

But what else would he be?

Piqué had let Leo cook dinner for him tonight, after he was released from the hospital. Geri was always the jokester, laughing at Leo’s face whenever a questionable song came up on the radio. Neymar sat in the back, scrolling through his phone and smiling to himself.

_At least someone hasn’t changed._

Leo decides it’s a great time to choose to stay over, and he asks Neymar if that’s alright. Yes, Neymar is perfectly content with that, Geri replies, because Neymar’s vocal chords suddenly don’t work and his throat tightens because _Lionel Messi is sleeping at his house_.

They end up in the kitchen together, Leo bustling around chopping vegetables and Neymar stirring the pasta. The dinner turns out good, Neymar slurping the pasta into his mouth noisily and Leo laughing at when the end of one of the noodles slaps Neymar in the nose, leaving the Brazilian with a bemused and shocked expression on his face.

They both wash the dishes together, side by side, and that’s when Leo brushes his knuckles underneath Neymar’s shirt, against a certain spot in his lower back.

Neymar freezes, feeling the exposed skin burn long after Leo touches it, softly apologizing as he reaches for a dish towel. “You know,” Neymar says, as Leo cleans one of the plates with said towel, “you could’ve just asked me to grab that towel for you.”

Leo shrugs, saying he just wanted to get it himself, but there’s something else in his expression. Neymar can’t read it, and it disappears so quickly he thinks he imagines it as he places the plates on the rack next to the sink.

They play FIFA for a while, and then when Neymar starts to yawn, Leo orders him to go to bed.

So, overall a very boring day in Neymar’s opinion.

Except the spot on his back is still burning.

* * *

So here he is, staring up at the ceiling and trying to fall asleep and failing. The painkillers he took aren’t massively effective, but the burn in his back has dulled to a slight tingle and his headache has dimmed. He blames the sudden headache on all the thinking he did during FIFA (which is a hell of a lot, considering he was playing against Leo, who happened to be a literal  _genius_ at FIFA), so he just rubs at his forehead and shuts his eyes and groans.

He doesn’t look at the clock, mainly because he doesn’t want to think about the time. The spot on his back still tingles, preventing him from completely falling asleep. He can hear Leo’s soft snores from the adjacent room, but he doesn’t want to get up to ask him why it hurts.

Dani told him the other day when he caught him up to speed, but he can’t remember what it was.

So, he does what he probably isn’t supposed to do.

He turns on his side and lifts his shirt up, and lays his fingers on the spot.

It starts tingling more when he touches it, and it's bumpy, so it’s definitely a scar.

He doesn’t know what it's from until he presses it with his index fingers.

He wasn’t prepared for the sheer explosion (for lack of a better word) of color and pain in his brain.

It’s like there was a lock in his head, keeping all of these memories sealed in a secret chamber in his mind, and the floodgates had opened. His mind is overflowing with senses and emotion and pain, so much _pain_.

He _remembers_.

_Remembers Santos, the goals he scored and the dances he did with his teammates and the pull of his heart when he left, leaving that little note in his locker…_

_Remembers scoring his first Barcelona goal, jumping into the air with the roar of the Camp Nou in his ears…_

_Remembers the World Cup, in vivid colors suddenly ending with the taste of grass on his lips and his throat sore from screaming in pain, his back feeling like it’s splitting apart…_

_Remembers the Copa América, scoring and soaring above the clouds until he crashes back down to earth with a red card waving in his face and being told he needs to go home…_

_Remembers the next season, with the treble and the celebration at Camp Nou and the champagne on everyone’s lips and how he was tossed around the room like a toy, kissing Geri and then Ivan and Rafinha and finally Leo…_

He’s ended up on his hands and knees somehow, clutching at the blankets in front of him with sweat beading across his forehead and slicking his hair. The dark room is slowly coming back into focus, his view warped from the tears forming in his eyes and dripping down his cheeks, but he doesn’t forget the whisper of _I love you_ in his ears and the soft touches on his hips, guiding him up and down and forward and backward, of his fingers curled into thick brown hair and nails digging into soft, pale skin.

He remembers Leo.

_He remembers Leo in all his glory, catching him and hugging him after goals, feeling Leo’s lips sloppily clash with his and tasting sweet liquor on his tongue from the celebratory champagne bottle, recalling how Leo filled him up and showing him, telling him without words that he loved him and that he’s loved him for a thousand lifetimes and that he’ll love him for a thousand more._

He staggers out of the room and down the hall, his brain melting from what comes next.

_The feeling of a cold bed against his skin, the lingering words of it was a mistake whispered across his skin, the taste of salty tears on his lips as he cries into the pillow before him, clawing onto the shreds of warmth left from a body that wasn’t there anymore._

He makes it to the guest room unscathed, holding the doorframe for support as he peers inside.

Leo is asleep, his pale back facing Neymar as he sleeps, shoulders rising up and down as he breathes. The sound probably isn’t that loud in reality, but it pounds in Neymar’s eardrums like the bass at a Brazilian _fiesta_  in São Paulo.

Because there’s something there, something he’s missing, like the last jigsaw piece in a 500-piece puzzle.

It’s not until he calls Leo’s name and the Argentine sits up, hair sticking up with sleepy eyes and a bare chest does it click.

_He’s suddenly lying on his side, the room soft and bright with the sun shining through a window. Someone’s fingers are on his face, cold but not hurting him, just tracing his cheekbone and jawline softly, like a paintbrush. He opens his eyes and comes face to face with a blurry face, and it doesn’t clear until he moves closer and realizes that it’s Leo, looking the exact same as he did two seconds ago in Neymar’s guest room._

_It’s quiet for a moment before Leo smiles, his hand resting completely on the side of Neymar’s face as he mumbles a low “te amo” underneath his breath and closes the gap between them, lightly pushing Neymar’s chin up so he can meet him halfway…_

“Neymar? It’s the middle of the night, are you okay?”

He has no idea if he’s okay. Is he okay? Probably not, mainly because he just realizes that’s it’s been Leo this whole time. It’s been Leo hugging him and kissing him and fucking him and telling him he loved him and leaving him in a cold and empty bed.

It’s Leo, it’s _always_ been Leo.

Neymar can’t do anything else but say “Leo, oh my God, _Leo_ ,” and lurch into the room, feeling like his mind is falling apart.

His legs give out from underneath him and Leo is suddenly there to catch him and pull him onto the bed, saving him from smashing his brains out on the wooden mahogany floor.

Neymar hasn’t stopped whispering Leo’s name, and he moves forward to crawl up Leo’s body and capture Leo’s lips in his own, to prove that he’s not making these memories up, but Leo is pushing him away. There’s tears gleaming in his eyes, making the brown look amber and making Leo suddenly look very small and exposed against the black comforter.

“Leo, please, it’s me, I remember you, Leo, _listen to me_ ,” is all Neymar can get out, pleading and cupping Leo’s face in his hands because he _has_ to remember, he _has_ to remember that night and how good Neymar must have felt beneath him and his moaning drove him over the edge.

But Leo is shaking his head and Neymar doesn’t know why, he doesn’t understand why Leo wouldn’t want to remember what they had, what they did, until he catches what Leo’s been mumbling under his breath.

“ _This is just a dream, this isn’t real._ ”

So Neymar grabs Leo’s face in his hands once again (more like slaps his hands on either side of his head), this time with enough force to jarr Leo’s brain and make his eyes widen, his mouth opening as his eyes lock with Neymar’s, their foreheads touching before Neymar smashes his lips onto Leo’s, swallowing whatever words he was going to say.

He leaves his lips there for a few moments before removing them, the sweat on Neymar’s forehead cooling as he moves an arm length away, waiting for a reaction from Leo.

There’s nothing, not a peep comes out of Leo’s mouth, just sheer disbelief in his eyes.

So Neymar does what he feels is right for the situation; he puts his face in his hands and starts crying.

Leo doesn’t make a move towards him. There’s no hand on his shoulder, no voice in his ear telling him that he’s okay, nobody to remind him that they’ll take care of him.

“Y-You said you loved me,” he stutters through his choked sobs as he throws out his last shot at jogging Leo’s memory, the declaration coming out far louder than he had anticipated.

Leo’s hands appear on Neymar’s, finally, and he pulls his fingers away and lifts Neymar’s face up, and Neymar realizes that there are tear tracks on Leo’s face that he isn’t bothering to wipe away.

Leo is looking at him like he’s the single greatest thing he’s ever laid eyes on.

“You heard that?” he whispers, and Neymar nods, and that’s when he breaks his silence.

“Of course I heard that, you idiot, I always hear everything you say and I always care about what you have to say and I love you too, I love you so fucking much and I-”

Leo’s lips suddenly seal themselves over Neymar’s, and there’s not much talking after that.

Which Neymar is fine with, especially when Leo presses his chin on top of Neymar’s head and plants a kiss into his hair and promises not to leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the Big Reveal. I'm sorry I took so long putting this up; I had to proofread this so it was perfect for you guys.

**Author's Note:**

> I love these two so much. Be on the lookout for the next chapter. :)


End file.
